


In Which I Include Far Too Many Cliches

by betweentheheavesofstorm



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Cosette And Enjolras Are Siblings, Drabble, M/M, Nonbinary Character, cliches ahoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-11 19:27:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4449278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betweentheheavesofstorm/pseuds/betweentheheavesofstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A E/R drabble written to the prompt "'You're the worst customer I've ever had' au".</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Which I Include Far Too Many Cliches

'No bran muffins either.'

The customer huffed indignantly. As impressions of frustrated suburban mothers went, it was near perfect. That is, if you ignored that the customer was a male in his early twenties, classically good-looking in a way that Grantaire found intensely irritating. Chiseled jaw, sculpted features, wave upon wave of pale blond hair, that kind of nightmare.

Beautiful or not, the customer was toeing the line between amusing and annoying, though he couldn’t know it. When working in retail, complicated requests were nobody’s friend and right now he was stopping Grantaire from going on break. That said, it wasn’t every day that an angel walked into the local supermarket, and it would make for a funny story to tell Bahorel later.

‘You were selling bran muffins last week,’ the golden statue argued. ‘I checked.’

‘So, they’re out of stock.’ It was really not rocket science, but asking a customer to think something through themselves was as useless as asking a cat to do a violin recital.

‘If they were out of stock, I would have been able to find the space on the shelf.’ Carried away by his own impatience, the model grabbed Grantaire’s sleeve and dragged him over to the baking display. Delicacies of all variety lined the shelves, but for once the customer was actually right. Iced ring doughnuts occupied the space where previously the bran muffins could be found.

‘My mistake,’ Grantaire shook his arm free. ‘We must have stopped selling them. Probably due to a lack of demand. Also, _technically_ you just assaulted me, but I’m not in the mood to get you kicked out.’

‘Oh, shit,’ the man looked horrified. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean – ’

‘It’s all right, dude, I’ll live.’

‘Still, it was really rude of me – ’

‘If you’re that concerned about my wellbeing you can buy me a coffee when my shift is over.’ Grantaire heard the words come out of his mouth and yet could think of no sensible reasoning that would explain why he’d thought that was an acceptable thing to say. Not only was it out of his character, (well, the asking out wasn’t. The bit where he asked out a guy straight off the cover of _Vogue_ was) he’d put the man in an awkward position where refusal would come off as further rudeness.

‘Okay,’ the customer said, turning a little red. ‘When are you free?’

‘Fuck, I was kidding,’ Grantaire stared. ‘You don’t actually have to, it’s cool.’

‘No.’ Apollo set his jaw. ‘I will buy you a coffee. I’m meeting a friend later, but uh, sometime this week?’

‘Um, sure.’ Grantaire didn’t have any paper, but exploration of his pocket produced a biro. Hoping none of his colleagues would suddenly appear, he grabbed the customer’s hand and scrawled his number on a very pale arm. ‘And in the quest for bran muffins, you might have better luck in another store. Try an area that’s a bit more hipster.’

‘Okay. There’s some other stuff, as well. Er, oat biscuits, blueberries, Madagascan honey?’

‘I really hope that’s not all for one recipe.’

'It's for a friend. They're coming to stay and I want to have things they can eat.'

'Is your friend by any chance a horse?'

The customer ignored him. Grantaire’s popularity was really fluctuating this week. 'Do you have soya milk at least?'

'Probably. Though as I said, this isn't much of a granola-crunching neck of the woods. You'd be better off a few blocks west.'

'You mean it's not as well off.' The customer crossed his arms. 'News flash, poorer people have allergies too, even if they can't afford to accommodate them.'

‘Okayy. Look, there's a health foods place down by the park. They probably have your sacred dried fruit blessed by nuns at midnight.'

'Did vegan food murder your family or is this one of those pointless dietary vendettas?'

'After deep thought and consideration, I would have to say the second one.' He picked a carton off the shelf. 'Here's your sacred milk.'

'Jehan's lactose intolerant,' the customer took it and examined the label, as if to make sure Grantaire hadn't given him the wrong one out of spite.

'My condolences. Do you need showing to the till, or can you find it yourself?' If he didn’t go on break now, he wouldn’t get one at all. Beautiful or not, the guy wasn’t worth missing a cigarette for.

 

'Oh my god, you are the worst customer I've ever had.' Éponine looked up at the blonde girl, who'd introduced herself as Cosette, and sighed in mock despair. 'I know it hurts, but can you try not to flinch so much?'

'I'm sorry.' When Cosette blinked, light reflected off her pale eyelashes. 'It's my first time.'

'No kidding. Especially not with a tattoo like this?’

‘What’s wrong with birds?’ Cosette glanced protectively down towards the half-formed avian silhouette on her wrist.

‘Nothing’s wrong with them, unless you’re allergic to clichés. I'm surprised you didn't go for the infinity symbol. Embrace the stereotypes of being a white girl, and all that.'

'If it helps I go to Starbucks very frequently,' said Cosette. ‘At least, I used to, until my brother spent forty minutes delivering a heated speech about how I should support local businesses over exploitative corporate chains. That put me off.’

‘He sounds like a charmer.’

‘I daresay you’d hate him,’ she laughed. ‘But he’s not that bad. He just cares a lot about stuff. And I've wanted a bird tattoo since I was ten.'

'Whatever floats your boat.’ Éponine’s own arms were covered in intricate designs of skulls and fire and the odd motorbike. Every time she leant forward to look more closely at her work, Cosette caught a glance of another tattoo on the back of her left shoulder. Unlike the others, it was yellow and orange, and looked suspiciously like a child’s drawing.

‘I'm nearly done here.' Adding the tiny beak, Éponine moved the needle away and surveyed her work. ‘Suits you.’

‘It’s lovely, thanks.’

‘You planning to shock your dad?' the corner of Éponine’s mouth jerked up in an lopsided smile.

Cosette flushed. 'Not quite. I can't imagine he'll be too happy with it, but now I’m eighteen it’s not like he can do anything about it.’

‘Doesn’t your dad have tattoos? I think I’ve seen him around.’ A slight understatement. Éponine had known who Cosette Fauchevalent was the moment she walked in the door. They’d lived on the same housing estate for years, not that either Cosette or her equally beautiful brother was likely to have noticed the Thenardiers. Éponine had stopped minding a while ago. Invisibility had its uses.

‘Yeah,’ Cosette was saying. ‘He was in prison a while back. Doesn’t stop him from fussing though.’

‘He wouldn’t be your dad if he didn’t.’

‘I guess. Thanks again, Éponine.’

The Fauchevelents lived in a different in a different district now, one where children played on the streets and people had flowers instead of dustbins in their front yard. Éponine sometimes cut through it on her way to Musichetta’s.

‘No problem.’

 

 

'What do you think?' Cosette extended her arm, practically shoving it in her brother’s face. Enjolras took hold of her hand with the same familiar roughness, and inspected the mark on her wrist.

'It looks nice,’ he said, and he only looked a little like he was lying to please her. ‘I can't believe you went through with it, but it looks nice.'

‘It does, doesn’t it?’ she grinned. 'You should get a tattoo of the French flag. Or 'freedom' in capital letters across your back.'

Enjolras rolled his eyes, and Jehan snickered. They themselves had no shortage of inked skin; watercolour designs of animals spread down their right arm and peeking out from the neckline of their shirt were black spindly branches of a tree.

Aside from Combeferre, Jehan was the only one of Enjolras's college friends that Cosette had met. With eyes that seemed to smile even when their mouth was in a straight line, they were so softly spoken that she was willing to bet that they could read a shopping list and make it sound like poetry.

The kettle started to boil and Enjolras lifted it off the stove, pouring it into the three assembled mugs. The teabags swirled around, leaving a spreading stain the colour of autumn leaves in its wake.

'I got your soya milk,' he opened the fridge. 'And most of the things you eat at uni. I couldn't find everything, I'm afraid.'

'He got distracted by a cute person who doesn't believe in allergies,' Cosette supplied.

'I believe what Grantaire said is that this area isn't hipster enough to house the lactose-intolerant.'

'Grantaire?' Jehan lifted their eyebrows.

'He had a nametag.'

‘That’s not the best part.’ Cosette passed Jehan their mug, and, taking her own, hopped up onto the kitchen counter. ‘Enjolras accidentally assaulted him and arranged a coffee date to apologise.’

Jehan nearly spat their tea everywhere. ‘ _Enjolras did what?’_ they spluttered, having hastily swallowed a scalding mouthful. ‘Oh my god, you have to tell Courfeyrac.’

‘Courfeyrac does not have to know anything,’ Enjolras said firmly. ‘I’m buying Grantaire a coffee as a ‘sorry’. That does not translate to ‘date’, as my sister fails to understand.’

‘Please.’ Cosette blew on her own tea to cool it down. ‘You and him, a cosy Starbucks corner booth. Jehan and I two tables away, filming it. Anything could happen.’

‘If you come I won’t go,’ he insisted. ‘He’ll want his coffee ‘to go’ anyway.’

‘Yeah, he’s totally using you for a free beverage,’ Cosette’s eyes were glinting. ‘That’s why he gave you his number.’

‘And if you recall events correctly; I texted him to arrange it and he never replied. Oh yes, we’re clearly meant to be.’

‘Still, there was a number? I’m sorry, it’s my duty to tell Courfeyrac now. Completely out of my power.’ Jehan was a lot more fun than Cosette had originally thought. ‘I also can’t be held liable if he decides to pay a spontaneous visit to check it’s true, either.’

‘Tell him if he shows up he’ll be sleeping on the floor.’ Having had enough of the conversation, and confident that the other two could keep each other entertained, Enjolras left the kitchen for the comparative peace and quiet of the living room. He flopped down in an armchair, and felt his phone buzz in his pocket. Holding his mug between his knees, he unlocked the phone and opened the message.

_hey apollo is thursday cool?_


End file.
